


a small and impossible moment

by killingthemoon



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 09:30:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19170493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingthemoon/pseuds/killingthemoon
Summary: “You’re leaving,” he repeated.“I am. But I will come back.”“Will you?” he asked, feeling hopeless and lost and a myriad of other feelings that he should not have been feeling.“I will. I will come back. For you, and only for you, because I’m certain that if you weren’t here I would leave this entire Saints-forsaken city to burn, kruge and all.”





	a small and impossible moment

Kaz Brekker’s name was the only one ruling Ketterdam that night, and it would stay that way, he knew, until something more interesting took it by the collar and forced it to look the other way. If his estimate was correct—and he couldn’t recall many times when it hadn’t been—this would be the case by roughly mid-afternoon of the next day.

It was recognition. It was revenge, that sweet, bitter thing. And he was bathing in it, relishing visions of Pekka Rollins frantic, Pekka Rollings brought lower than the low. Brought there by _him_. The smallest of smiles flickered across his face for a fraction of a second before vanishing once more.

The Crow Club was once more in the process of losing itself to the feeling of victory that night. He could hear raucous laughter and shouts of delight as they squeezed their way up through stories and floorboards, up to him on the roof. The very walls of the building seemed to stand upright and not at their usual slant, imbued with the taste of victory, of glory, of having had  _won._

Kaz clutched the crow-head of his cane with gloved hands and turned his face upwards to the moon, half-hidden by misty clouds.

 _I did it, Jordie_ , he thought. _I did it._

Maybe Jordie could hear him, maybe he was proud, wherever he was. He shook himself. He was beginning to sound like Inej.

 _Stupid thing to think, Kaz,_ he told himself, _he’s gone, but you got Rollins back for him and that’s what matters._

He could almost hear her soft laughter as she said something wise and noble like—

“I always preferred getting drunk on moonlight too, Kaz. Though I never pinned you as being that sort of person.”

As if summoned there by the very thought of her, Inej appeared by his side. Her hands were neatly folded behind her back, her hair in its usual braided coil. Even in the half-dark, he could see her inky eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Don’t get used to it. Usually, I prefer vodka.”

This was a lie and they both knew it, but she played along.

“Drink-until-you-can’t-anymore type?”

He nodded his agreement.

“Kaz,” she said after a pause, and he could tell what she would next say by the way she struggled with the severity of the words in her mouth. She chewed on them before laying them out for him. “About what you did, what you did for me, I—”

She stopped, reconsidered. He could feel a weight settling on his chest, but he couldn’t fathom why. He let her recompose herself, twidling his thumbs and blinking up at the stars. A soft breeze danced through the air, brushing his cheek with light fingertips.

“Thank you.”

The two simple, ineffable words drifted out of her mouth like a slap to the face.

“Whatever for?”

She shook her head, mouth pulled into the hints of a smile. “Everything. The boat. My—my parents. And even before that, for rescuing me from _her._  Thank you.”

He shrugged, could feel the familiar line bubbling up his throat: “I protect my investments, what can I say? I could tell that you were a valuable one, which is the only reason I purchased your indenture from Van Houden. Call it intuition. And that’s all.”

Inej glared, her easy manner souring somewhat. “Kaz Brekker, you and I both know that that is not the reason why you’ve done this for me.”

“No, I suppose not. Not anymore.”

_I will have you without armour, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all._

He was suddenly, painfully aware of her every movement, the way her hands were gripping the railing, the way the wisps of hair that had escaped her bun danced in the wind. The way she pressed her lips together and how her chest moved as she breathed—he reminded himself of this. She was still breathing, she wasn’t a body on the Reaper’s Barge.

The weight on his own chest grew heavier still.

“You’re leaving.”

“I am.”

“Stay.”

She looked at him then, really, actually looked at him—at the vulnerability painted across his face, the way his hands were shaking ever so slightly on their grip around the head of his cane, and he knew she could read every bit of him like an open book. He hated it, hated that the Wraith could bring this out of him, Dirtyhands, Bastard of the Barrel. He wanted her to never, ever stop doing it.

“Are you ready to shed your armour, Kaz Brekker?” she asked softly.

He swallowed, heavily, the weight growing almost unbearable. He took a hand and put it over one of hers, covering it with the leather of his glove. His heart was racing immeasurably, impossibly fast.

Slowly, she tugged his glove off and put her hand right next to his. Not touching, no, but a hairsbreadth apart; he could feel her closeness. She had left the choice to him. Revulsion and longing and bittersweet hope all rose within him. He edged his smallest finger just barely to the left so that it was touching hers now. Hardly at all. He fought to keep it there.

Jordie’s face seemed to swim out of the starry darkness, glassy, dead eyes staring at him. He could feel the cold water rising around him, could feel the weariness in his limbs grow, but he _had to keep kicking or he would die too_. Panic seized him, spindly fingers wrapping tightly around his throat, stopping his breath.

“Kaz,” she said. “Kaz.”

Just his name and her voice, and it forced him back into the somewhat gentle present.

“Inej.” He stared at their barely touching fingers. How pathetic he was, he thought.

But she was smiling at him.

“You’re leaving,” he repeated.

“I am. But I will come back.”

“Will you?” he asked, feeling hopeless and lost and a myriad of other feelings that he should not have been feeling.

“I will. I will come back. For you, and only for you, because I’m certain that if you weren’t here I would leave this entire Saints-forsaken city to burn, kruge and all.”

It was his turn to smile. “You’d find yourself regretting that decision soon enough.”

She laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and gotten drunk on it every night, he would have. It terrified him.

“We’ll see.”

They stood there for a good long while, fingers just touching, gazing up at the night sky over Ketterdam.

For the moment, they were together, and that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This is dreadfully out-of-character and extremely self-indulgent, don't mind me.


End file.
